Winifred Swanson screamed, the kind of scream that scours the throat, empties the lungs, and strips away sanity as it goes.
The thing pulling itself inch by pitiful inch along the asphalt had been a little girl, once. A few strands of platinum-blonde hair still clung to the shrivelled skull and a pretty, lace-trimmed dress the rich green of pea soup swamped the withered, skeletal frame. It stretched out one shaking hand, arthritic fingers twisted into claws and topped by thick, yellow nails.
"Mommy," it gurgled around a mouthful of soft and rotten teeth. "Mommy. They broke my vacuum seal. Mommy..."
Winifred dropped to her knees, the high shine of her white patent boots scraping against the buckled sidewalk. Those scuffs would never come out.
"Freshness," she whimpered, almost too soft to hear above the ringing silence that echoed in the aftermath of her howl. "Oh, my little Freshness..."
She reached for her daughter, but the Garbage Men pressed down on her narrow shoulders and pinned her in place. Their faces, hidden beneath peaked caps and concealed behind mirrored sunglasses, never moved, but still the way they stood gave the impression of a smile.
The sole surviving ForeverWare lady wept.
Ongoing Verse: The Children( Read more... )